Eddie finds himself at 36 back living with his aging uncle in the same trailer park he was raised in. Wayne may have upgraded to a more insulated, sturdier model with two bedrooms a few years back, but it's almost identical to the one he remembers.
Eddie had had it all, the perfect midwest outcast's dream. Drugs, sex, and rock and roll. He'd made it big, bigger than even he thought possible when he convinced the guys to leave it all behind and take their shot.
Fans had screamed their names, thrown themselves at him, begged to be in his orbit. He'd partied harder than he'd thought possible. He'd picked up a bottle, and eventually he'd forgotten how to put it down.
Several scandals, even more bad decisions that the public never heard about, and a fall off the stage that left him unconscious for almost a week, had landed his ass in rehab.
Several fights with the band, ruined hotel rooms, and a bottle thrown at the head of someone who should have been his best friend had him kicked out of the band he founded.
It took him four years in and out of every program he could find before he finally managed to get a fucking grip.
So, at 35, he'd shown up after nearly six years of no contact to the only person he could bear to show his face to. His uncle in blood, his father in spirit.
Wayne hadn't hesitated to pull him into his arms.
At 36, he has no direction, no stable job, and no idea who he was without a guitar in his hand.
What he did have was a little girl who lived in the nicest trailer across the street, who liked to bring the "sad man" a flower from the planter boxes outside her window and her beautiful father, who looked at him with the kindest eyes anyone had ever deigned to offer him.
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